Problem of the Past
The problems arise
From the beginning of our past.
Look them over,
Create a new start.
Facing the mirror,
We stare at the shells created
For us to fill
With dreams and hopes,
And loves and hates.
It's up to us;
It's up to fate.
I gave up for the final time
I'm not letting up.
Take my hand
Lead me through.
You've been my shoulder,
My conscience,
My guide
I'm a little lost,
To the world;
To the future;
And my past.
Hold me close,
Don't let go.
I can't let this happen again.
Copyright © Ashley Filkins | Year Posted 2007
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